


Promises to Keep

by wildandflowering



Category: Messiah Project - All Media Types
Genre: Animal Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 21:37:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6394804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildandflowering/pseuds/wildandflowering
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Ariga blinks once, slowly.  “I need to rest, that’s all.”  Of course.  How much poison had been injected into his veins during his captivity?  How much…of whatever else?  He’s alive, but that doesn’t mean he’s unscathed.  The scar on his cheek is an obvious testament to that, small, but an angry shade of red.  Untreated.  Threatening infection, or worse.  Itsuki sits down on his own bed, watching.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>But that’s just one bit of proof.  Other hurts aren’t always as clear.  But Ariga says nothing and lets his eyes fall closed.  Itsuki silently and selfishly wishes he wouldn’t sleep.</i>
</p>
<p>A look into Itsuki and Ariga's partnership post-Shinku no Shou.  Uncertainty and progress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promises to Keep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [endgame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/endgame/gifts).



It’s funny.

Not in an…actually humorous way, but more strange, probably.

It’s only been, what, a few weeks? However long. Itsuki doesn’t mind the burden on his shoulders right now. The weight of another man, _Ariga_ , draped across him as the four of them all shamble back home.

Not that he’d call the Church his home, but it’ll do in a pinch.

But it’s weird. Yeah, _weird_. Because before all this, even the thought of having someone so close in any situation that wasn’t combat would never have registered. That’s not how Itsuki worked. He did things on his own, got shit done with his own hands and feet, and drifted on to the next excitement. Never a plan in sight or a thought for how he’d get through.

Living in the moment, the thrill of the now, the rush of the unknown, that was Itsuki. Though he still loves how his heart pounds in his ears, practically deafening him to everything else. Except maybe his own laughter, released with such an unrestrained joy every time.

Life is a blur and a bizarre rush, but _God_ it feels good to be alive on that edge.

The weight on his shoulders shifts as they approach their room. Tries to lift itself from Itsuki’s shoulders. Before he realizes what he’s doing, Itsuki’s hand moves to the back of Ariga’s coat and grasps it. Desperately. The tug must get Ariga’s attention, because he glances down at Itsuki with those dark, tired eyes. There’s no silent question there, nor is there a spoken need for an explanation.

His brows just crease. Itsuki releases his hold and holds the door open, his eyes focusing on some spot on the floor as Ariga passes by. It only takes him a few long strides to reach his bed, but his scent lingers in his wake. Itsuki’s breath hitches, even though nothing stands out. Ariga smells of sweat, gun steel, and residual death, as he always has for as long as Itsuki has known him. It’s normal. It’s as it should be.

Itsuki pulls the door shut behind him.

Ariga’s bed creaks and Itsuki looks over just in time to see his Messiah lie down on his side, his legs still hanging over the edge. He keeps his eyes open, though their focus is almost non-existent. The familiar dull ache rises in Itsuki’s chest again. “Ariga-san…?”

Ariga blinks once, slowly. “I need to rest, that’s all.” Of course. How much poison had been injected into his veins during his captivity? How much…of whatever else? He’s alive, but that doesn’t mean he’s unscathed. The scar on his cheek is an obvious testament to that, small, but an angry shade of red. Untreated. Threatening infection, or worse. Itsuki sits down on his own bed, watching.

But that’s just one bit of proof. Other hurts aren’t always as clear. But Ariga says nothing and lets his eyes fall closed. Itsuki silently and selfishly wishes he wouldn’t sleep.

When he was younger, around seven years old, he had a dog. Just some mutt he saw get hit by a car. The driver sped off without a backwards glance. People can be pretty shitty like that. Itsuki had run toward the dog, lying prone on the side of the road, and tried to ignore the whimpering noises and panting breaths, intent only on burying his small hands in the animal’s shaggy fur.

He learned that day that fear smells sour, like spoiled milk or piss or tears shed against someone’s will.

Ariga remains silent, his breathing evening out the longer he lies on his bed. But Itsuki doesn’t dare tear his eyes away. Even when he feels his heart start to pound harder he keeps his vigil and reaches out blindly to a box by his bedside, clumsily retrieving a lollipop. The plastic wrapper crinkles almost deafeningly in the small room as he unwraps the candy before popping it into his mouth. It clacks against the back of his teeth.

Minutes pass. Itsuki assumes it’s only been minutes. Ariga’s still-gloved hands uncurl the longer he lies on the bed and the peace that sleep grants him smooths out the creases of his forehead. Some locks of his hair have come loose from the gel Ariga applies every day. Itsuki’s hands itch. His fingers twitch. His legs carry him to stand in front of Ariga and he reaches out. He could just move that hair out of the way.

Back then, Itsuki’s tiny hands had curled around the dog’s fur, grounding the animal, willing it to hang on and pull through. Its brown eyes never looked away from Itsuki.

Now his hand hovers just centimeters from Ariga’s face. It starts shaking. 

No…he shouldn’t risk it.

Itsuki had had that dog for just a few minutes until it died in his lap, its breath slowing to nothing, its eyes losing their focus.

He had screamed, begging it to come back.

Watching Ariga, he pulls his hand away. Then, under his breath, he says around the lollipop, “Please open your eyes again.”

\---

He wakes up on his own bed, drooling; the lollipop has slipped out of his mouth and sticks to the bed sheet. “Aw, gross.” Itsuki sits up, but then feels something slip from his shoulder. He looks down to find a blanket pooling around him. Then he quickly glances over to Ariga’s bed and sees his Messiah under his own blanket. It rises and falls gently as Ariga breathes regularly.

His eyes are watching Itsuki.

The both of them stay like that for a time, still and silent, watching each other. There’s a gap of a few feet in between their beds and yet Itsuki hasn’t felt this close to someone in a long, long time. He hasn’t felt this…safe. Hands curl around the edge of the blanket and tug it a little closer and Ariga’s gaze softens. He blinks a few times, then goes back to sleep, like he had been waiting.

A band-aid covers his cheek now.

\---

“Ariga-san, where are we _going_?” Itsuki has to almost skip at some points just to keep up with Ariga, which is pretty annoying. He reaches out and grabs his Messiah’s sleeve. Thankfully, that tug gets Ariga to slow down enough that Itsuki doesn’t have to practically run on their walk.

A walk to some unknown place. Ariga had been less than helpful when he suggested they go out.

At least it’s a pleasant day, if Itsuki ever cared enough about it. Sunny, cool enough that they could wear their own personal jackets, but nothing else out of the usual. Just a nice day.

Ariga glances down at Itsuki, but keeps walking, and at a much more reasonable pace, Itsuki thinks. “I thought I told you. I wanted to go to some shops downtown.” The scar on his cheek is faded now; it should heal up soon enough and then be all but invisible.

But Itsuki will always know it was there.

He sighs. “That still doesn’t tell me anything. Are we gonna beat up some assholes? Did someone try to kill you again? Let’s go. I’m ready. They’ll never know what hit ‘em.”

“ _Kagami_.”

“What? I’m serious. I haven’t gotten some scrapes in _way_ too long, it’s driving me _nuts_.”

Ariga exhales. Or…was it a laugh? But when Itsuki studies his face, there’s no trace of amusement. Unless his lips are upturned a little… “We sparred yesterday. You can’t be that desperate.”

“Yeah, and you kicked my ass. Again.”

“Is that all you learned from it?”

“Oh. Sorry, _sensei_ ,” he smirks. “What am I supposed to say again? Something like, ‘I’ve seen the error of my ways, please continue my training’? Sounds like your typical manga, honestly.”

Another breath leaves Ariga’s lips. This time there’s no hint of a smile to accompany it. “I keep saying it wouldn’t hurt you to refine your style a little. You approach it with nothing but chaos and have nothing to fall back on. That’s why I can beat you.”

Nothing but chaos… Ariga’s not _wrong_ , but that chaos _is_ refined in Itsuki’s eyes. Not everyone can rush in like a tornado and get out alive. Just because he doesn’t follow textbook rules of fighting doesn’t mean he’s not good at it or doesn’t know what he’s doing. “You could use a little branching out, too, Ariga-san.” He skips ahead, blocking Ariga’s path, and braces his hands against Ariga’s chest. “You’re so rigid and…and disgustingly perfect, really, that one wrong hit’s gonna crack you. You gotta be flexible and ready for any surprises, ‘cause the world doesn’t run on rules.”

He can feel Ariga’s heartrate speed up beneath his hands. Shit, what did he do now…

Ariga looks away, his eyes darkening with…sadness? “I know that.”

Oh, _shit_.

His hands start to curl against Ariga’s chest, fingers gripping at the fabric of his shirt. They don’t talk about him much – Ariga’s controlled outburst all those weeks ago had been the only time he was brought up so far – but Mamiya hangs heavy over the both of them. Itsuki doesn’t know what to do. He met the guy one time and hadn’t been all that impressed.

Mamiya had smelled like death. Core-deep, a rotten pit of loneliness and with no will to struggle on. Something so awful that all Itsuki had wanted to do, really, was leave him be. Some people were just too far gone. But worse than that is that sometimes he catches that scent lingering around Ariga. Like it trails its disgusting fingers along Ariga’s skin. Wraps around his soul.

It makes Itsuki gag.

Ariga smells like death, too, but it’s only skin-deep. It can be washed away. Itsuki just needs to figure out how to do it, but he’s never been very good at interacting with people. How does he comfort someone? How does he encourage? How does he apologize for his own, honest mistakes? Because this conversation has taken a bad turn and even though he didn’t intend to disturb that shallow emotional grave, he still kicked at it, unearthing that which neither of them wants to acknowledge.

This _sucks_.

“Look…I…” Itsuki bows his head, looking at their shoes.

Neither of them speaks for a few seconds; Itsuki can’t form the necessary words on his tongue and who knows what’s going through Ariga’s brain. But then Itsuki feels Ariga give his shoulder a quick squeeze. He raises his eyes, unsure what to expect. Ariga still looks elsewhere, but his eyes flick back to Itsuki for a moment, then he nods toward a building across the street. “That’s why I wanted to come out today.”

Itsuki blinks, then turns to look. And he frowns because…he sees a candy store. But he had just gotten rid of all his remaining lollipops the other day. He really didn’t need them anymore, after all. And especially not an entire box or more like he had had before. Not that numbers were ever the cause for hoarding in the first place. 

Ariga pulls away, but continues. “I thought…you might want to have some to fall back on.” He pauses and his jaw clenches, like he’s thinking. “You practically went cold turkey. That can’t be easy.”

Easy? “But it’s not about that.”

Ariga slips his hands into his jacket pockets, falling quiet again. “…I know.” Just watching Ariga causes Itsuki’s chest to ache, but not in a bad way. Just seeing him there, alive and whole and willingly spending time with him… Ariga’s eyes squint as he looks across the street, the sun shining even brighter. “Will you let me do this every now and then?” His eyes find Itsuki again. “Give both of us the chance for some fresh air, I mean.”

It’s more than that, though. Itsuki can get fresh air almost any time he wants, as can Ariga. But to do it together, to let someone else take the reins in life occasionally, that’s different. It’s scary. It’s _good_ scary, like when his blood pumps faster and he joins some fight, and the other person has a knife, but he only has his fists. So much could happen, so much could go wrong, but the rush, the fun, the thrill of meeting life headfirst…

He wraps his arms around Ariga and buries his face into his Messiah’s chest, breathing deeply.

“K-Kagami…”

Itsuki closes his eyes and lets himself get lost in Ariga’s scent. He smells…warmer than he has before. Feels it, too. It’s probably just the sun’s influence, but Itsuki pretends that he’s gotten to know Ariga better and thus melted past some of his exterior. That hint of death that hangs around, metallic and cold and abrasive. But this…this is the real Ariga, Itsuki is sure of it. And that makes him grin as his hands cling to the back of Ariga’s jacket.

He feels arms return the hug and that is all it the reassurance he needs for now that Ariga will stick around and not leave him.

Ariga opened his eyes before. Itsuki is certain he’ll continue to do so.

**Author's Note:**

> please let these dumb lonely boys be happy


End file.
